Along with neglecting my own blog, I’ve been neglecting others’ too. But fortunately I had a little time to kill the other day. I spent it cheerfully catching up with the group you see over in the righthand column.
Endurance
Granny’s tale of being a pariah when asking ahead of time for a riding buddy
touched a bit of a nerve with me… and also reminded me that I never really told
you guys about our ride at Foothills. These topics are somewhat related.
Foothills was
way back on October 19—several centuries ago in house-buying time.
It was a
beautiful weekend. The weather was custom-made for riding. It was in the 60s.
Sparkling sun on fall colors.
And I was
escorting a newbie. (Not a junior, just a newbie.)
I have been a
lot of things over the years. I have been the newbie who doesn’t know how to
get through a vet check. I’ve been the one on the young, green horse. I’ve been
the one on the crazy, dangerous, fire-breathing spook monster. I’ve been the
one using other people as a backstop. I’ve been the one using other people to
drag me along. I’ve been the person who didn’t think electrolytes were
necessary. (I’ve been the one who didn’t even know what they were.) I’ve been
the one who rode into camp oblivious to the hopping-lame horse. I’m the one who
has fallen off… a lot. And I’ve gotten caught up riding other people’s rides
instead of my own.
That last thing
is why I always hesitate to commit to ride with another person.
At Foothills, I
offered to escort a first-timer who had come with an experienced rider who was
doing a different distance. I hoped that it would end up being a lot like my
ride with Evita and Corky at OR100. A young person and an athletic horse would
keep me and Blue interested and steadily moving forward.
Instead, my partner
at Foothills turned out to be delightful company… and a terrible match for me
and Blue.
I’m going to
give you a list of some of our incompatibilities for educational purposes. These
are things to think about before you try to ride with a partner.
Our horses’
gaits didn’t match up. Her
horse had a slow walk and a powerful trot. Blue is pretty much the opposite.
When we were walking, she couldn’t use me to block her horse’s energy because
Blue kept getting ahead too far. At the trot, her horse would get frustrated at
Blue’s steady 6 mph. He’d then pass us very fast before getting worried about
being alone and having a mini-meltdown.
Our horses’
fitness didn’t match up.
The experienced rider who brought my newbie was fairly sure that her horse
could do the 25 miles, and pushed her to do the LD instead of the trail ride. I
will say the little guy valiantly tried.
Unfortunately, he
spent way too much energy on his racebrain at the start. There wasn’t much left
at the end, and we were very close to going overtime. I put myself in a very
hard position—where encouraging this newbie was pitted against my knowledge
that I could easily complete the ride on time if I left her behind.
She didn’t
know what to expect from her horse. As the newbie’s horse began showing signs of tiredness, she would ask
me to slow down to a walk, or would get down and try to jog with him. She was
waiting for his breath to even out or for him to offer energy like he had at
the beginning.
I asked her what
he’s normally like after a long ride like this, but she didn’t know. In much
the same boat I was last year after 36 miles, she was trying to do right by the
little guy without knowing if anything was wrong.
My own horse is
lazy and tends to pant. That’s just the way he is; I’ve learned not to worry
too much when he pretends that he is about to drop dead on the trail. So,
frankly, I was annoyed to be slowing down for a horse that might or might not
be in any distress. I was especially miffed because these little episodes kept
happening on nice, level areas where I would have been making up time if I were
by myself.
Foothills is a
very cerebral ride in that you have to judge the safe places to go fast—there
aren’t a whole lot. You can’t waste those opportunities if you want to complete.
We had
different e-lyte protocols.
Eventually, I asked her how much electrolyte she had given him because am
imbalance might explain why he seemed sluggish. I think you can guess the
answer. She hadn’t given any. I assumed (foolishly) that she had been using
powder in his feed the same way that I did when I was new. Well, no. She was
very near tears at this point as her horse seemed to be giving up… and so was
she. I gave her one of my spare syringes for him. I was pretty sure that camp
was nearby in case of a real emergency.
We were a
personality mismatch. You
might make the argument that my confidence and determination on the trail are a
result of being an experienced LD rider. I tend to believe that it is more my
cold-fish nature coming out in a time of stress.
I have yet to
experience the emotional extremes of distance riding myself, so I don’t really
know how to react when I see it happening to others.
My newbie
partner was frustrated, tired, worried about her horse and just unprepared
overall for the grit that distance (even relatively short distance) demands of
you. I’m fairly certain she spent the last two or three miles of the ride
thinking terrible things about me, my horse and our sport, glaring daggers into
my back.
No, I wasn’t
mean to her! But I’m also not exactly a motivational speaker. I was
pragmatic: This is roughly how far we’ve gone. This is how much is
left. There is nothing I can do for you or your horse out here in the
wilderness. Camp is where the real help is. It’s just a few more miles. Focus
on finishing.
I could tell she really needed someone more motherly and understanding. Sorry, toots. The only way I’ve ever finished is to just keep riding.
I could tell she really needed someone more motherly and understanding. Sorry, toots. The only way I’ve ever finished is to just keep riding.
With much
cajoling, we finished with about 10 minutes to spare.
It was a relief
in more ways than one.
Here’s the thing
about personalities. Remember that personality test I did for work? Basically,
according to the test, there are four ways a person can be. You can be any
combination of them from perfectly equal to split between two to leaning hard
one way.
Analyticals look at the facts to make a decision. In
their world, any problem can be solved by applying the correct information. On
the trail, analyticals are the people who have mentally mapped out every step
of the ride and stick to the plan to achieve their stated goal.
Drivers are goal oriented in the extreme. They are always in a hurry and often
make snap decisions without taking time to think things through. On the trail,
this is the person who planned on riding a steady ride but throws that plan out
the window to gallop into the top ten.
Amiables are your self-denying, motherly types. They just want everyone to be happy,
even if they have to hurt themselves in order to help others. This is the
person who stops to help an injured horse or rider, often at the cost of her
own completion. Bless the amiables. They are the glue.
Expressives are your daydreamers and talkers. They lose
sight of finishing because they live in the moment. On the trail, this is the
person who is more interested in photo opportunities and stories of long-ago
rides than keeping an eye out for ribbons.
At work, I am
the only “Analytical” in my office. On the trail, I’m still an Analytical… with serious Driver tendencies. :) The people I most often ride with tend to
be Amiable and Amiable-Analytical.
Do you recognize yourself? Your friends? Your favorite
riding buddy? Tell me all about it in the comments!